


Can't You See It?

by comets_nix



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: After Apocalypse, After the Movie, Cussing, Depression, M/M, PTSD, Sad, Scars, actually this is an old fic, ow i hurt myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comets_nix/pseuds/comets_nix
Summary: Imagine Warrens scars after that crash. That was a lot of fire.I'd assume he would have quite a hard time dealing with them when he wakes up- but good thing a certain blue teleporter is there to help the angel realize that he is not exactly as broken as he thought.





	

Imagine Warren’s scars after surviving that crash. That was a lot of fire.  
We saw his injuries, and yes: we can not ignore the heavy and depressing fact that Warren’s face and body would quiet literally be destroyed after that.  
So if- rather when- Warren is rescued, he will quite literally be unrecognizable. His face would be bloodied and burnt, sliced and raw. So when he is brought in, put on a life line, and in a deep coma, his face would be so wrapped up and covered in bandages that the team would have never been able to tell that that was actually Warren.  
And his wings? I bet they were destroyed too. I bet they melted and snapped, twisted in ways that left them completely useless and dead. Warren is a scarred, broken, wingless boy on a hospital bed so physically ruined Hank doesn’t even know why they saved him.  
But Kurt does.  
He knows that inside the Angel of Death, lies a beautiful creature that is simply misunderstood and unknowing of what life can actually be like.  
So he visits Warren every day, when everyone has gone to bed and Warren is left in his comatose state as his body tries to heal and form once more all alone. The only sounds would be either Kurt’s quiet prayers, or the dull beeping of the thankfully constant heart monitor.  
Kurt would sit in the same chair by Warren’s bed each time, and sometimes bring him things like flowers or books that he’d read to the fallen Angel out loud to keep him company.  
And Kurt would look at the Angels injuries and burns with utter regret, praying more and more for this beautiful creature to get better. And he’d pray more and more for God’s forgiveness of what he did to Warren. What he destroyed.  
Because to Kurt, Warren would always be an angel.  
Now fast forward a month or two, after Angel has woken up from his coma and finds himself an uglied, ruined mess. Imagine the pain he would go through when Hank would hold up a small mirror because words were so unable to describe something like that to someone.  
He would retreat to his assigned room the minute he was released, allowing no one a glance at this demon of a mutant. He would lock himself up and drink away his nights of lonely sorrow and self hatred. He would lift a hand to his face and feel across his twisted skin, knowing he would never be wanted again.  
He would think himself to be an evil being, unworthy of the life he was so rudely given. And when someone would ever knock on his door, maybe Hank wanting a check up or Ororo trying to feed her former teammate, he would scream for them to leave him be. Leave him to rot alone. He would throw a bottle of vodka, still half full, at the wooden door and sit in the corner, hiding his face in his arms against his legs as the glass worth gather at the floor and the stench of alcohol would tear through the room.  
‘Leave me how I deserve to be-’ he’d say in a whisper.  
And maybe one day, Kurt would show up. Kurt would be happy, SO happy, to hear that his Angel had healed and was getting better. But after seeing his friends attempts to get Warren out of his room and take care of himself, he had held off; nervous.  
But the day came when Kurt could no longer stand the nights when he knew Warren was alone, destroying himself with drunkenness and blasting music until four in the morning. So he finds the courage to walk up to the angels door one night when these very things are happening, and gives it a gentle knock. He knows Warren can hear it over the music, it’s not that loud today, but he is still ignored. ‘Maybe he passed out,’ Kurt would think. But he knocks again, louder this time as the small fear of Warren grows smaller.  
“FUCK OFF,” Warren would yell, muffled from the other side.  
Kurt would gasp, and nervously wring his hands together.  
“Please, Engel-” he’d plead, accent heavy with fear.  
And at that, the music would quiet, now too quiet for Kurt to hear. And there would be shuffling inside, unclear to Kurt as to what it was.  
“What do you want!?” Warren would ask, shocked that it was Kurt now at his door step, his voice slightly less aggressive.  
“I-I vanted to make sure you vere okay!” Kurt would stutter out, looking nervously at his feet.  
“I’m fine!“Warren would yell back, finished with Kurt’s sorry attempts.  
“But I don’t believe zat!”  
“Well believe it pal! I said I was fuckin’ fine! Now leave me alone!”  
And maybe Kurt knew he should walk away now, leave Warren alone and hopeless like everyone else and move on in his own life.  
But maybe Kurt also knew that right now, Warren really needed someone.  
So he would stand a minute, and place his hand on the door.  
“I can’t do zat Warren.”  
“Well you better.”  
“Please let me in, I-”  
“Want to make fun of me!? Tease me!? Tell me I’m-”  
“I vant to help you.”  
“I don’t need help.”  
“Yes you do…” Kurt would whisper. And things would be silent for a moment.  
Kurt would think he had been ignored, Warren now done with him and his stupid attempts.  
But then the door would crack open just a a bit, the stench of sweat and alcohol filling Kurt’s nose.  
He’d hide it for Warren, who was now only allowing Kurt an inch wide gap to see his shirtless, pale, scarred body. He’d keep his curls in his face, blue eyes glistening from the dim hallway lights, the room pitch dark behind him.  
“Are those… SPACE pajamas!?” He’d suddenly chuckle from behind the door frame, looking Kurt up and down at his baggy, dark blue pajamas that matched his skin and hug too big on his tall, skinny frame. And indeed, Kurt would look down and see the little planets and rockets that decorated the buttoned shirt and soft pants.  
“U-uh, I-” Kurt would blush, now terribly self aware, and Warren would laugh again.  
“Well now I know you ARE worried, or else you’d have taken the time to look at yourself,” he’d smirk. Kurt wouldn’t know what to say, and would stare at Warren with shock and embarrassment, hiding his hands behind his thighs.  
“Are you ok?” He’d finally ask, earning silence from Warren. Kurt couldn’t see enough of Warren to know his expression, but the silence said something.  
Warren would breathe, stare Kurt in the eye, and open the door. “No.” He’d whisper.  
And Kurt would walk in, Warren shutting the door behind them, and stand awkwardly.  
It would smell terrible in Warren’s room, after days of no air filtration and constant nights of broken bottles and fluid vomit.  
“Engel-”  
“Don’t call me that.” Warren’s voice would be a whisper, and he’d linger by the door. Kurt’s eyes would quickly adjust to the darkness, seeing clothes and glass and knives and, are those drawings? All over the floor.  
“I’m fine. See? You can go now…” But Warren wouldn’t open the door, would he? Because Warren also knew that he indeed needed someone right now, just as he had been slipping that night.  
Just as he thought he didn’t deserve this… this CARE, from so many people.  
“Vill you turn on the lights?” Kurt would whisper back, still not moving; scared to move his feet across the messy floor.  
“No.” And after that, they’d stand in silence. Warren calm and still, and Kurt shifting nervously. “You gonna go?”  
“Do you vant me to?” Silence again. Kurt would now be growing impatient, confused at Warren’s behavior. “Maybe I should… I’m sorry, I just vanted to-”  
“No.” Warren would say, almost too quiet to hear.  
“Vat?”  
“I mean…” Warren would now finally move, and it would be then Kurt would turn and see the white outline of feathers.  
Thin, shaggy feathers that signified the beginnings of two, beautiful wings. Small, but THERE.  
“Varren!” Kurt would smile, reach his hand out. And Warren wound wince away as if Kurt was fire, ready to burn Warren all over again.   
“Don’t-” He’d choke out, and Kurt would pull his arm back.  
“I’m sorry! I just-”  
“I know.”  
“Varren, please….”  
“I’m hideous.” Kurt would freeze at the words, not knowing howto react.  
“No you’re not, you’re an-”  
“Shut up!” And Kurt would. Because Warren was scared, and Kurt didn’t want to lose him now.  
“Show me, Engel.” Warren wouldn’t correct Kurt this time. And instead would move away, more into the darker part of the room.  
“You’ll leave me.”  
“No I von’t.” And Warren, whose eyes shone in the dim moonlight shining through the torn curtains, would walk towards Kurt, a menasing shadow in front of the blue mutant. And he’d take Kurt’s hand in the dark, the teleporter jumping but not pulling away, and lift it to Warren’s face.  
And what Kurt would feel would not be smooth, tattooed skin, would it? No.  
He’d feel the scars of burns and cuts. Ripped skin that ran over his once sharp features. There would be smooth spots here and there, but Kurt’s fingers would be led over bumps and streaks of thick scar tissue.  
“Engel….” It’d be a whisper. Kurt’s eyes would lock with Warren’s, glowing yellow in the dark.  
“I’m ruined…”  
At that, Kurt would shake his head and reach for the light. “Can I?” Of course he’d ask permission.  
And when Warren would nod, and the lamp would come on, Kurt would stand in silent shock at what he saw. Warren’s wings, now dark skin and covered in the beginnings of feathers. Warren’s chest, the same scars from the cage still there, protected from the crash in his suit. Warren’s legs, dressed in clearly dirty black jeans covered in stains and old stitching. And Warren’s face.  
Warren’s beautiful, scarred face. There would be something like a stripe of scar tissue that would run over his eye, down his cheek, and across his lips, as if he’d been clawed by a demon. And then his eyebrow would be cut in half, a white ridge of scar that sliced through it. And his lips would be slightly twisted, not only from the huge scar, but as if they didn’t heal completely. The pink shattered at the ends like someone bit them too hard. And his skin?  
Oh, his skin.  
His skin would be lumpy, rippled, and completely regrown. Regrown in discolored mountains of scars, leaving only a few places here and there of normal skin. They would run down his throat in the same patterns, across his collar bones to fade into the normal skin of his shoulders.  
“No.” Warren would glare at Kurt’s words. “No, Engel. You are not. You are…. reborn. You have come back stronger. You have come back as somezing new, somezing…. beautiful,” Kurt would look up at him with awe, and take the hand Warren had touched and slowly place it over Warren’s cheek once more. Warren, this angel, would stare down at Kurt in utter shock.  
“How can you think that?”  
“Because I can see vhat others don’t… I know you are hurting, Varren. Please, let me help you…”  
So Warren would.  
He would suddenly fall into Kurt, unable to stop the tears from falling from his heavy eyes and racking sobs that shook his body. Kurt would take him in his arms, sitting them on the floor and bring Warren into his lap. He’d wrap his tail around Warren and stroke his back, trailing his claws over the fresh skin.  
“You have nothing to fear, Liebe,” he’d tell him in a soothing voice.  
And maybe it was the alcohol speaking in Warren’s tired body, or maybe he had just let go for once, but Warren would let Kurt hold him that night as he cried his heart out.  
And for the first time in many, many years, Warren let himself be held. Let someone sooth him and tell him things would be ok. That he wasn’t a monster. That he was beautiful as he was, and would always have a home right there. In Kurt’s arms.  
And for the first time in many years, Warren let himself believe the comforting words spoken to him, and fall asleep with out the threatening nightmares and numbing of alcohol. He'd fall asleep where he belonged.  
Right there.  
In Kurt’s arms.


End file.
